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Back The Dead Line
Chapters (87)
  1. Cover
  2. By the Same Author
  3. Dedication Page
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. 61
  65. 62
  66. 63
  67. 64
  68. 65
  69. 66
  70. 67
  71. 68
  72. 69
  73. 70
  74. 71
  75. 72
  76. 73
  77. 74
  78. 75
  79. 76
  80. 77
  81. 78
  82. 79
  83. 80
  84. 81
  85. Acknowledgements
  86. Also Available by Holly Watt
  87. The Hunt and the Kill

‘How,’ asked Ed, ‘the hell are we going to get out of here? Dylan and his lot will have the whole of Chittagong sewn up by now. They’ll be turning the city upside down.’

‘Did they actually see your faces? With any luck, they won’t have worked out who we are yet.’

‘But how are we going to get Poppy back to England?’ Ed asked. ‘We can’t possibly leave her.’

Miranda had handed the tiny girl over to him as soon as he walked in. She had cuddled into him, snug in a little pink blanket, tiny hands in fists.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Miranda. She was looking at her watch. ‘We’re all flying out of Chittagong in a few hours.’

‘But how can we get a passport for Poppy?’ Ed’s voice rose. ‘We still don’t know who’s been handing out the passports since William Cavendish retired.’

‘No,’ agreed Miranda. ‘But it’s far too dangerous for us to stay out here. Raz didn’t tell Casey how long it would take for him to bring a passport for Poppy, and waiting is too dangerous now. We’re too compromised.’

Casey was looking stubborn. ‘I could stay though. I might be able to . . .’

‘No.’ Miranda’s voice was firm. ‘We’re going home.’

‘But’ – in her exhaustion, Casey was intractable – ‘we may never be able to work it out properly. Raz had never heard of Greystone, and Dylan was contemptuous of him. There’s someone else in control, and we might never find out who it is from the UK.’

‘I don’t care,’ said Miranda.

‘I need to go to the safe house,’ said Casey. ‘I want to talk to all the women.’

‘It’s dangerous,’ said Miranda.

‘I have to. We need to get Romida and the other girls over there anyway.’

‘I’ll come too,’ added Hessa.

‘I’ve been speaking to Dash,’ Miranda went on. ‘The Post’s Christmas appeal is going to fund a safe house for the girls from the Beauvallet.’

‘I suppose that’s something.’ Casey was still looking mutinous.

Every year, the Post picked three charities, and the journalists spent a day drinking brandy and eating mince pies, while readers rang up to donate their winter fuel allowances. The editor inevitably ended up being harangued for twenty minutes by a Mrs Pegg from Harrogate about moving the crossword from page 22 to 23; Casey once got quite a good story out of a Mr Ball from Colchester about a dubious local planning officer.

As Ed stood up to head for the bathroom, there was a knock at the door. Ed tensed, eyes flickering around the room. ‘Don’t answer it,’ he ordered.

But Miranda was untangling the locks and bolts, and then the door swung open.

Hessa grimaced as she looked up. ‘What is he . . .’

‘I can’t believe,’ the man said, ‘that I am doing this.’

It was Gabriel Bantham, stepping gingerly into the room.